


To Have You

by thewritingkoala, Tina0609



Series: Tom & Charlie [6]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awkward Dates, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Heartbreak, Kissing, Tom messes up again, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, and then makes up for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 13:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingkoala/pseuds/thewritingkoala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: Tom and Charlie take their relationship to the next level. Or do they? Tom will mess up (obviously), but he will also make up for it.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> 2 parts this time!

Charlie comes prepared. As far as she knows, Tom prepared as well, because Evie is having a sleepover with her cousin and her aunts tonight.

She’s brought wine, Tom cooked and he also specifically said that there would be no need to go home tonight.

So, she’s brought an overnight bag. Goodness, she hopes it’s not too much.

It’s taken them long enough to get to this since Tom’s become less stubborn and admitted they’re indeed dating each other.

Oh, date night. Charlie’s excited, shaved and dressed nicely. She’s not tired and doesn’t have to be in the hospital until tomorrow evening.

A date night that doesn’t include spaghetti with ketchup (she hopes), cartoons (she really, really hopes) or reading bedtime stories to Evie (okay, she misses that little angel, but honestly, an evening alone with Tom? Just the two of them? Heaven.).

Charlie’s made it past the gate, out of the car and has rung the bell.

A string of curses is heard from inside but finally Tom opens the door, looking a little worse for wear, but oh so good in dark jeans and his burgundy sweater. The longish hair without too much product, the beard as nice as it can get and the glasses a little crooked.

Goodness, she’s missed him.

“Hi,” she says.

Goodness, he’s missed her.

Alright, he last saw her three days ago, but that was interrupted first by Evie demanding some quality kitten time with Charlie and then by Charlie being called to the hospital for an emergency.

There always seems to be something or other coming up, so quiet moments for just the two of them are few and far between.

And today’s THE day. Nope, he shouldn’t be thinking of that. Totally not. He’ll just get nervous again and do something stupid.

Like forget that he’s supposed to light candles if he’s planning a candle-light dinner, then burning a fingertip a bit when the doorbell surprised him while speed-lighting them.

He hopes Charlie hasn’t heard him curse a blue streak. Then again, she’s heard him swear a lot of times by now. And somehow still likes him. Go figure.

“Tom?”

Tom realizes that he’s been staring and trying to summon his courage. Well, how’s a man supposed not to stare when she looks so pretty and tempting?

“You’re…wearing a dress,” he croaks out.

Wow. Way to go, Hiddleston.

He’s adorable, isn’t he? Charlie should probably not tell him, but he really is. He’s also fidgety and staring and Charlie’s proud of herself.

She tries to hide her smirk as she answers, “I am indeed wearing a dress. Thank you for noticing. What gave it away?”

The dress has actually helped her a lot of times. It is blue with white polka dots, and reaches her knees, and is made by Ralph Lauren. Combined with wedges, Charlie actually feels like Duchess Kate. Seems like Tom likes it as well.

“Was it the legs? It was the legs, right?” she continues to tease him, until he shakes his head and bites his lip.

“Har har,” Tom answers wryly. “I’m sorry, you’re just…” He stops for a moment, before smiling at her. “You look very, very beautiful. And I’m not used to seeing you without trousers.”

“That’s…thank you. I think.”

Goodness, this is awkward. They’re also still standing outside, something Tom seems to realise as well.

“Oh shit. Damn. No. Come in, please? And try to ignore me?”

Charlie smiles, then goes in, standing in front of Tom in the doorway with him still holding on to the door.

“Hi,” she tries again and smiles.

“Hello.”

And finally, finally Tom leans closer, letting his lips brush against hers and Charlie feels the butterflies in her belly roar to life.

Yes, he can totally do this. Should have done so much earlier.

Tom hums softly against Charlie’s lips and deepens the kiss, feeling that odd jolt through his system that always hits him when he kisses her. Must be the thrill of something unfamiliar. It can’t be more than that, right?

Charlie’s mouth opens under his with a soft, yielding sigh, and Tom’s hands automatically go to her hips to pull her closer. Her body feels different somehow, in the dress. More feminine, not that he hasn’t noticed that before and liked it rather too much. It feels more…inviting, somehow. Begging his hands to roam.

One of them does that, sliding from her hip to the small of her back to draw her closer still. Their tongues meet, glide…

…and then Tom stifles a yelp and jerks back when tiny but sharp claws dig into his shin.

“Meeee-ow”

“Boots, for heaven’s sake!”

He glares at the now bigger kitten climbing up his leg, jealous of him monopolizing Charlie or maybe Charlie monopolizing him.

The woman in front of him starts giggling. She does that a lot, it seems, giggling at him. It sounds rather breathless this time and Tom can’t help to feel quite proud to be the reason for the shortness of breath.

With a laugh Charlie kisses him firmly but way too innocently on the mouth one last time, before lowering herself, getting to her knees to pet Boots.

“Aw, are you jealous you’re not getting much attention?” she purrs at the cat.

Has her voice always been that sultry? Surely not? Tom was able to concentrate with Charlie around for most of the times after all.

And why in the ever loving fuck is she on the floor? Kneeling?

Tom fights everything inside him not to reach out now. He also hopes the colour of his face will be back to normal by the time she looks up.

Is it hot in here? It’s hot, right? He should have just gone for his shirt, leave the jumper.

And another why. Why is the first thing he feels panic rather than lust?

Tom offers her his hand, which she gladly takes to be closer to him and on her feet again, Boots thoroughly petted. He doesn’t let go of her as he leads her to the kitchen, taking the bottle of wine from her.

“I really hope you’re hungry,” Tom murmurs.

Oh, she is. But not so much for food.

Only, Charlie has a good idea that if she mentioned that, Tom would turn tomato-red, splutter or perhaps run a mile.

Sometimes she wants to shake her head at herself. Is she putting too much pressure on Tom? On herself? On all of them? Is she pushy, demanding, having too high hopes?

But then there are those oh-so precious moments when Tom smiles–really, really smiles and lights up her world–or when Evie falls asleep, half on her lap and half on his. Or when he allows himself to fall into the moment and gives everything during a kiss.

Those moments, they feel right. And so she keeps being a bit pushy and hoping for both of them.

If loving Tom means taking baby steps, then she’ll do just that.

“I am,” she says, sending him a smile she hopes conveys the hidden meaning.

There it is, that adorable blush and shy, kind of terrified grin.

He draws a chair out for her, gentleman that he is whenever he’s not grumpy or grieving, and Charlie pays attention to their surroundings for the first time.

“Oh, Tom!” With a gasp, she looks at the candles and decorated table, a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through her.

“Too much?” He gives her a pleading, hopeful look that puts even Boots to shame.

“No, not at all!” she’s quick to reassure. Of course, it’s much. It’s Tom. He doesn’t do anything half-heartedly.

Even when Charlie was the one talking about her feelings first and he pushed her away, after some time he somehow gave her the feeling of wanting her and doing anything for her, pursuing her in the end. If that makes sense.

Goodness, all this “pushing” does make her sound a bit much, doesn’t it? But it’s true, and she firmly believes that they can be happy together.

“It looks so lovely, thank you so much.”

His smile looks entirely too relieved as if he’s been overthinking everything for these past days. Again.

“Good.” He falters for a moment, just looking at her. Oh, what now? Is there something in her face?

Like that one time when she baked with Evie and simultaneously had to watch Boots, too? And no one told her until it was time to go and Tom caressed her cheek?

“Tom?”

He sighs. “You just… you look so lovely and I really want us to have a good night.”

Charlie tries to stop herself from blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, she really does. But the, “Oh, I know we will,” in that voice is out before she can help it.

“We’re having Lasagna!” is Tom’s squeaky answer, before he takes the bottle of wine to the sideboard to open it, his back to hers now.

Well, that could have gone better.

* * *

Has it always been this hot in his kitchen? Must be all that cooking and baking and falling over his own feet to light candles.

Tom struggles with the wine bottle. What use are freakishly long fingers if he can’t open a bottle of wine for his date?

His date.

Dear God.

His hands falter completely, and he has to take a deep breath.

Charlie is much more than that, but tonight definitely is a date. When did he go from grieving widower and in-over-his-head single dad to dating such a wonderful woman?

Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up.

He repeats the mantra silently in his head, somehow getting the bottle open. He could do with something much stronger than red wine. Nope, not happening. The only think he should be getting drunk on is love.

Wow, that was soppy.

Flushing red again, Tom turns with two full glasses–and nearly sloshes wine over himself when he catches Charlie staring at a spot where obviously his butt was a moment ago, and where now his crotch is.

Yeah, his kitchen IS hot today.

She’s still staring and blinking. Charlie knows that, but doesn’t have it in herself to get out of her trance.

She knows Tom’s good looking. Of course, she does. Today is by far not the first time she’s realised that. And though she of course fell in love with his mind and humour and character (and his daughter), who is she kidding, it helps if you look like Tom Hiddleston.

The clearing of a throat - Tom’s throat - brings Charlie back to reality and Tom’s kitchen, being painfully aware of her staring at his crotch now.

Her eyes shoot up to meet his. He’s staring right back at her, his face - again - a deep shade of red.

“Sorry,” Charlie mumbles, and blushes herself. The last time there was so much blushing she was 15 and Michael from her class had finally asked her to dance. She really hopes this night will end better than that.

“You just…” Oh, well, who is she kidding? “You look good tonight as well.” Might as well go in for it.

Tom is almost stumbling back to the table, setting their glasses on the table a little too harshly. “Uhm. Thank you.”

Instead of sitting next to her, Tom goes back to the oven and uses the towel to get the Lasagna out. Good, at least there won’t be any injuries to treat tonight. So far at least.

With everything served, Tom doesn’t seem to find any more excuses for not sitting next to her and seems to take his place with a defeated sigh.

* * *

This is torture.

Tom’s a foodie through and through, and he’s rather proud of his cooking skills–which have improved after catering to Evie’s tastes and whims–but he can’t focus on his dinner tonight.

It’s like all his senses are in overdrive. Why else would he be able to smell Charlie’s subtle yet alluring scent mixed with tomato, cheese, and meat? Why else would his traitorous mind wander and wonder whether her skin smells like this everywhere–only to nearly choke on his food because arousal is quickly replaced by sheer terror and nerves again?

And has there always been so little space in his kitchen? They’re sitting so close that their arms are touching all the time. Even their thighs. Which makes him think of how beautiful her legs look in the dress. And tempts him to place a hand on her knee, slide it up slowly, maybe let it dive in between her legs.

Whoa. Not going there. She’d probably stab his hand with a fork. Or…or does she expect such a bold move? Should he try? Is he disappointing her by concentrating so hard on the food he can’t taste?

Tom takes a hearty gulp of wine, searching frantically for something to say because they’ve exhausted their small talk and now things are becoming awkward.

For fuck’s sake, he isn’t 19 and blundering his way through a date! If Emma or Sarah saw him like this, they’d cackle gleefully for years or maybe kill him.

“So…do you want to watch a movie after dinner?” he blurts out.

Charlie almost lets out a startled - but delighted - whoop of triumph. He’s actually talking to her!

Honestly, she loves him, but this is becoming a nightmare. Tom jerked at every touch throughout the delicious meal he’s cooked. Almost as if she was going to attack him in the next moment.

She’s been asking herself - not entirely able to concentrate on dinner - if she really is too pushy. But he was the one to ask her to stay over. He didn’t have to.

But it’s been a few months since her and Jeremy and even longer for Tom. Charlie kind of hoped he’d wanted it as well.

But now he is talking, and maybe all is well. Tom’s shit to watch movies with, though. At least for what Charlie hopes ‘watching a movie’ might mean tonight.

He’s either entirely in and focusing and not being able to talk through it, or so enthusiastic that he won’t shut up.

Maybe today they can find a new way. Wandering hands maybe? Little patterns drawn on arms and legs? Getting comfy?

“Yes! Movie, please.”

Charlie barely lets Tom have time enough to nod, before she gathers their plates along with the casserole and drops them into the sink.

“I’ll help you clean later,” she announces, grabbing her wine glass, the more than half empty bottle and walks - hopefully in a seductive manner - out in the living-room.

Please don’t fuck this up, Charlie.

* * *

Please, let this work, Tom silently prays.

He pries his eyes away from Charlie’s swaying hips and shapely legs because he needs his blood not that much south.

The next few minutes go by in a blur, and before he knows it, they’re halfway through “The Princess Bride”. It’s one of Charlie’s favourites and luckily it’s a movie where he isn’t so absorbed that he forgets all about the warm, willing woman in his proximity.

A woman whose hands wander tonight the way his hands used to wander whenever Em and he decided to ‘watch a movie together’.

No. He is NOT going to think about Emily tonight, Tom vows to himself for the umpteenth time.

Instead, he focuses on Charlie’s fingers rhythmically stroking up and down his thigh. Not too high up, not too firmly, not too softly. God, he could get used to this.

She’s better at this seduction game than him, isn’t she?

Tom’s competitive streak rears its head, rising to the challenge.

Oh, punny. Rising. Ehehehe.

Snapping out of it and stifling his grin, Tom decides it’s time for payback.

He has an arm around Charlie’s shoulder, which gives his hand perfect access to roam. And so he does just that, letting his fingers glide over her arm, then up over her shoulder to her shoulder blades and the nape of her neck, massaging slowly.

Is that the softest of moans?

* * *

Oh, finally.

Charlie can’t help but moan when she feels Tom’s gentle but firm fingers on her neck. She doesn’t know if it’s because of the bottle of wine that’s now empty or because Tom finally realised that she’s not paying that much attention to the movie.

Or maybe because he wants to.

Charlie leans back, snuggling into his side, while changing her strokes to the inside of his thigh. He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes and finally plants a kiss on the top of her head.

So, she turns a little, nose and mouth now at Tom’s throat, inhaling softly and then kissing.

Tom’s own little groan makes her grin and suddenly - really, how exactly does that happen? - she’s lifted and the next thing she knows she’s straddling Tom, mouths locked in a heated kiss and hands roaming everywhere.

Yes. Finally.

God, Charlie feels good in his arms.

Tom isn’t even sure how he got her there, but now she’s straddling his lap, her hands fisting in the wavy hair at the nape of his neck and her mouth fused to his.

His hands take on a life of their own again, exploring whatever he can reach while he dimly thinks to himself that a blouse and skirt ensemble would’ve been better for easy access.

She’s so soft and inviting against him, so utterly lost in the kisses. And those kisses are going to his head along with rather more wine than he should’ve drunk, making him dizzy with the intensity and bliss of it all.

Tom trails a hand from her neck down her back and over her butt, kneading a little and earning himself another low moan. Charlie wiggles restlessly on his lap, brushing against the place that hasn’t got any female attention for over a year.

His fingers are about to drift lower and dive under the dress hem that’s risen higher on her thighs when Tom realizes that there’s rather too much wriggling going on down there.

He forces his eyes open and his mouth away from Charlie’s to see Boots crawl into his lap and try to get as close to both of them as possible, purring as loudly as an engine.

For fuck’s sake, can someone remind him why he let himself be talked into having a kitten?

“For fuck’s sake,” Charlie grumbles. This can’t be true. She finally had Tom relaxed and oh-so willing and now Boots is going to be demanding? No. No, no, no.

Boots lets out a hiss when Charlie grabs him and plants him on the floor rather forcefully. “Shoo,” she mumbles and after a pathetic meow and a little bit of sad eye blinking, Boots walks towards the other end of the room.

Charlie’s still in a bit of a haze, she doesn’t even want to know how her hair looks at the moment and her dress is draped around her hips.

“Where were we?” she grins and plants another kiss on Tom’s mouth. But even with her jumbled brain, she realises Tom isn’t in it anymore. The hands stop roaming and he answers her kiss half-heartedly.

“I,” he gasps out. “I can’t.”

“Oh, I think you can,” she murmurs against his mouth, her fingers touching the part of Tom that makes it clear he really can. But her lips refuse to leave his.

“No,” he says, chokes almost, “I really can’t.”

Charlie sits back. Still planted on Tom’s lap, but not touching him with her hands. “Oh.”

So, that’s what rejection feels like, huh? She’s promised herself she wouldn’t be disappointed and that Tom needs time, but it does hurt.

What does she do now?

* * *

Fuck. Fucking hell, shit and damnation.

This wasn’t planned.

Tom stares at the hurt written all over Charlie’s face with kiss-swollen lips, and he feels as if he’s just kicked a puppy. Or a pregnant dog. Or ten thousand puppies.

The age-old cliche “it’s not you, it’s me” rises in his throat, but he chokes it back down. Charlie deserves more than this.

Actually, she deserves more than him. Someone better. Someone who can give her all the love she deserves. Who can make love with her without yearning for a ghost or trying to overpower his heart–and body–with his conflicted brain.

He watches her try to get her expression into control, and his heart aches twice as fiercely.

“Charlie…” He clears his throat, opens and closes his mouth a few times while trying to find the right words. “I’m…”

“Do NOT say you’re sorry,” she interrupts him, her voice a bit wobbly.

He can’t say he’s sorry.

The worst thing about this? About sitting in Tom’s lap, a heavy make-out session behind them and on the road to sex? She knows he’s sorry.

She knows it’s not really his fault and that he’s trying to figure it all out and that she’s the first woman since Emily. But damn it, Charlie is so fucking tired of competing with a ghost.

She can’t win anyway, can she?

Hell, she knows how hard it is for Tom. The disaster that was their first kiss - or the aftermath - say it all.

But it still hurts, and being sorry still doesn’t make that hurt go away.

Okay. She knew this could happen and yes, he does look like he means it and is hurt by himself as well. Good.

So, how to proceed? Talking might be good. Being there for him, surely?

First, Charlie scrambles off his lap, simply to not lose the last of her dignity. So, she sits next to him, straightening her dress, still not looking at Tom but at her legs instead.

Tom lets her and has also kept his mouth shut for the last minute until now. “But I really am,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I know.” Okay. No need to be hurt. “It’s okay.” And damn it all, she tries to mean it. She’s always positive and there’s always hope, right? Right. Cuddling is nice, too.

“Maybe…” Tom starts, but she interrupts him. They  _need_  to stay positive, she needs  _him_  to keep his calm.

“We don’t have to have sex. Obviously. We can cuddle. I can still stay the night. We can just talk. Let’s talk,” Charlie rambles. “Or do you want me to go?” she asks, just to be sure that she’s wanted here.

There’s no easy way out of this, is there?

Tom remembers a time when he was an optimist, when he would go “fuck it all, I’ll do this, and I’ll give it my all”, when he had enough energy for two or three people. It seems like a lifetime ago, though sometimes with Evie–and now also with Charlie–he feels a little more optimistic.

But this, this is a spectacular mess. And it’s all his fault.

Does he even know what he wants?

Instinctively, his hand searches for Charlie’s, and relief floods him when her fingers curl around his.

He can do this. He has to. He deserves hapiness, doesn’t he? Just as much as Charlie does and as Evie does.

“No, I don’t want you to go,” he says, so softly he’s not sure she’s heard him.

After a long moment, he feels Charlie go less rigid. After another long moment, she lays her head on his shoulder.

Cuddling. He can do cuddling–or can he?

* * *

He can’t. He can’t even do cuddling.

So much is painfully obvious when after half an hour of watching the last of the movie in silence, he can’t seem to relax.

He’s started to compare and that’s something he shouldn’t do. Comparing how Charlie feels against him to what Emily felt like against him.

Comparing the moves he’s made with Emily to the moves he’s made with Charlie and what she might like and not. Em loved to cuddle. Before Evie - and if he had time - they’ve spent weekends just cuddling on the coach, Tom with a script, Em with a book or the other way round, if he wanted an opinion. And now he can’t relax.

He sees Em, and he shouldn’t. It’s so not fair. It’s also not fair that he’d rather have Emily back than doing this. And it’s really not because of Charlie, because Charlie is great and he knows Emily won’t come back.

If Emily was still there, he’d never met Charlie and he’s painfully aware of that in this moment, and somehow Tom can’t make his brain shut up.

He’s rigid against Charlie who’s obviously doing her best to be relaxing, moving as little as possible. But that’s so not how it’s supposed to be, is it? This is just a nightmare.

“Charlotte,” he starts and waits. For what, he doesn’t know.

Full name.

Oh, dear.

So Tom can’t even do cuddling, can he? She’s spent the past thirty minutes pretending to relax while she felt how tense Tom was. She could almost hear his brain tying itself in knots, could almost feel his heart aching. Or perhaps that was her own heart with its dull, bitter pain of rejection.

She should’ve known better. Didn’t she wonder whether she was too pushy? Looks like she was.

But part of her doesn’t want to think that. Part of her knows that’s how she is. She isn’t going to change who she is to suit Tom, just as he can’t make himself bend backwards to be what she might need.

Somehow, they have to find a way of being true to themselves and while also not throwing away the special bond she knows they’re sharing.

“Thomas.”

That makes him wince.

There’s a long silence before Tom says very softly and with so much regret that she wants to weep, “Maybe I’m not ready yet…even though I want to be.”

She nods. Honestly, nodding seems to be all she can do right now. Nodding, blinking back tears and swallowing that lump in her throat.

“You want me to…,” she croaks and doesn’t even have to finish the sentence before Tom nods as well.

“Maybe, that’s better.”

So, Charlie nods again. Clearing her throat and sitting up straight, she lets out a humourless chuckle before biting her lip. Her eyes sting.

“But maybe we should also talk?”

Charlie almost wants to laugh at him. She’s barely holding herself together and Tom doesn’t look much better. And he wants to talk now? No.

“I’m really trying here, Tom. I’m trying not to be mad at you and be an understanding girlfriend,” she starts, then furrows her brow. “If that’s what I am.”

She doesn’t give Tom time to answer, Charlie doesn’t want to hear it anyway. “And I’m trying not to cry in front of you and so far I’ve managed. Please don’t make me talk right now.”

From the corner of her eyes she sees Tom nodding, mouth kept firmly shut.

So, Charlie stands, says a soft, “Bye,” and then leaves to get her overnight bag. She hurries out of the door, towards her car, before she curses. Damn it. She’s drunk half a bottle of wine. She can’t drive.

She also doesn’t have much cash, but her oyster card. With an eye roll, Charlie prepares to walk to the next station, off Tom’s driveway and to the right to the main road.

“Fuck you, Hiddleston,” she whispers, first tears starting to fall on her cheeks. Great. Now she’ll be one of the women crying on the Tube.

* * *

Fucking hell, he’s feeling like a piece of shit. Worse.

He’s never been someone who hurts people, always going out of his way to make sure everyone’s being treated fairly. How the fuck did he turn into this…this..what even is he?! But he really can’t do this. Doesn’t Charlie deserve at least honesty instead of him pretending and trying half-heartedly to do something he knows dee down he shouldn’t do yet?

Cursing a blue streak, Tom shoots off the sofa and runs to the door. He does’t know what the hell he’ll do or say, but the image of Charlie so valiantly holding back tears has burned himself into his brain and he simple NEEDS to go after her.

He storms out the door, then blinks in confusion.

Why is her car still here? With her not in it or anywhere near it? Has she decided for some miraculous reason to stay?

Tom stares wildly left and right, then spots Charlie speed-walking away, her shoulders hunched and her free arm hugging herself.

He doesn’t even give himself time to wonder why she’s walking but strides after her.

“Charlie! Charlie, wait! Please!”

She walks even faster.

“Charlotte, please!”

Damn him and his stupid idea of being a gentleman now. Or whatever it is that makes Tom shout after her, while she’s crying and simultaneously trying to not make him see. He’ll feel so guilty, he’ll never want to see her again.

Charlie hears Tom’s steps behind her, pounding hard on the sidewalk. “Charlotte, please, wait.”

She gets slower. Almost as if her feet and heart work together against her brain, trying to make her stop and hear him out. She really doesn’t want to. She just wants for this night to be over.

He’s almost right behind her when Charlie stops, but doesn’t turn around. “Can I please explain?” Tom asks, sounding as desperate as Charlie’s trying not to feel.

Charlie shrugs. It doesn’t matter now anyway. And it also doesn’t matter that she won’t turn around because Tom is now circling her before coming to a halt in front of her.

“Can I…” he starts. “You won’t go forever, right?” he then asks and gasps a little when Charlie meets his eyes with her own tear filled ones. “Oh, Charlie!”

Dear God, it’s so fucking unfair!

Why does he have to come with all that baggage? Why does he have to be so difficult to love–and find it so difficult to love again?

Tom has another of those moments where he wants to toss his head back and howl in anguish. Or curse the powers above. Or just give in.

He hasn’t had those moments for quite some time. But seeing Charlie in tears and knowing he’s the cause for them just kills him all over again.

Tom reacts on instinct, hauling Charlie close while he feels his own eyes tear up. She struggles against his hold, muttering something unintelligible and hitting his chest with the fist of her free hand.

But he embraces her anyway, pressing her head against his chest and chanting a litany of “I’m so sorry, I’ll make it right, I’m so sorry, don’t leave me”.

Her grip on the overnight bag loosens and it thuds to the floor. The next moment, she sinks against him with a sob that shakes both of them, her wails of “dammit, I hate you” muffled a little against his sweater.

He knows, god he knows that she hates him. She should, she’s got every right to. But it still hurts to hear her say it.

Tom rocks them both, trying - and failing - to hold his own tears back. They’ll be a crying mess on the sidewalk then.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

“No,” comes the muffled reply against his chest. “No, you really don’t.”

“Explain to me?” Tom drops his head to bury it in Charlie’s soft and lovely smelling hair. He’s so used to the scent by now that it instantly calms him.

Charlie’s body is still shaking from her sobs, her tears slowly wetting Tom’s sweater. Her arms hang loosely by her side, making no attempt to hug him.

“Don’t wanna talk now. Wanna go,” she mumbles.

“Okay.” Tom’s sigh is deep and he doesn’t let her go. It almost feels like he’s the only thing that actually holds her up right now. He won’t lose her. But he needs her to say it. “Tell me,” he whispers and his heart beats frantically.

“What?”

“Tell me you won’t leave me.”

And then he waits.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

It’s too much. All of it.

Knowing that he does want her but can’t seem to take the last step. Knowing that she’s let him reduce her to a sobbing mess though she once vowed to herself no man would ever do that. Knowing that he’s probably as panicky and hurt as she is because it looks like he’s going to lose another woman in his life.

She just wants to go home and sink into a hot tub to cry. Maybe with her favourite ice cream. Or sleep. And wake up two-three days later with no memory of this.

Hey, maybe she should do it like Tom and drown her sorrows in alcohol? But he doesn’t do that aymore, and she has never believed in that either. If only she’d had a bit more wine to dull her senses.

With a hiccuping sigh, Charlie struggles out of Tom’s rather desperate embrace. She can’t look at him. He’s crying too, and shes till kind of hates him and…it really all is too much right now.

“No,” she croaks. “I won’t leave you.”

She can hear his sigh of relief before he sniffles.

“But I need some time alone. Maybe even a few days without talking to you.”

“Okay,” Charlie hears him croak and from the corner of her eyes she sees Tom nod almost frantically. “Okay, we can do that if you want. Just…”

Goodness, it still is too much. So Charlie interrupts. “I’ll call.”

She knows what he’s doing here. Trying not to let her go, buying time. But honestly, he couldn’t stomach to cuddle tonight, and now he’s the one holding on? No.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll wait, you’ll call.”

Charlie nods. “Bye,” she whispers, then turns to go. Ah, damn. “Before I forget,” she adds, facing Tom again - he still hasn’t moved - “I’ll get my car tomorrow morning. If you could maybe try not being outside then.”

“‘Course.” Then he hastily adds, “Why won’t you drive now?”

“Half a bottle of wine, Tom. It’s not worth an accident I believe.”

Yes, it’s harsh and yes, Charlie sees him wince, but she doesn’t have the energy to be polite any more.

“Yeah.” The pain in his voice is almost visible. “Okay.”

So she goes. And still sees him standing there when she turns at a corner and looks back for a short moment.

She has to look back.

That’s how this usually is supposed to work, right? She’ll drag herself away but realize her mistake after a few steps. He’ll just wait right here, reaching out with his longing and guilt and confusion and pain, and hope for her to turn and look back at him. Surely then she’ll change her mind and come running into his arms.

Or has he read too many books and seen too many movies?

His heart lurches in his chest when Charlie does cast a look back over her shoulder but rounds the corner nevertheless, vanishing from sight.

Fuck.

Why?

Suppressing another sob, Tom rubs his hand over his face. He stands there for another few minutes, or maybe it’s a few hours. He doesn’t know, but he waits.

Finally, he turns and walks back home, wishing he hadn’t thrown out all the liquor bottles.

* * *

She’s had one hell of a night. Tossing and turning and thinking of Tom and this whole mess they’re in.

It’s probably mostly hurt pride and rejection on Charlie’s part. But also sadness because she stupidly thought she could heal him and everything would be fine then.

She knows it’s stupid, because he doesn’t do that anymore, but Charlie hopes Tom didn’t search for answers in a bottle of strong liquor yesterday.

She’s dragged herself out of bed, after hours of fitfully turning around in bed and maybe two hours of sleep overall.

In old jeans and a hoody Charlie’s made her way back to Tom’s flat, desperately hoping he listened to her for once and wishing he didn’t.

Well, fuck.

The sight that greets her on Tom’s driveway is Emma standing in front of the open door, Evie by her side and Tom inside the house. Maybe if she turns around fast enough?

“Charlie!” she hears Evie shout at that moment, letting go of Emma’s hand and running towards Charlie. “We bringed food!”

Well, fuck, indeed.

* * *

Well, fuck.

Tom shifts from foot to foot, one hand half-raised as if to stop Evie–who’s already running towards Charlie with a glowing smile.

He swallows thickly. He’s not going to survive this morning. He’s barely slept an hour, is totally not in the mood for his exuberant daughter, and knows his sister will skin him alive after or before roasting him over an open fire.

Also, Charlie looks like hell from what he can see, and that makes it all a million times worse.

Emma stares at him, at Charlie and at him again, brows raised.

“Why is Charlie coming here early morning to…to do I don’t know what? Why is her car here when she obviously didn’t spend the night? Thomas, what did you do?”

Well, fuck, indeed.

Charlie can’t hear what Emma is saying, because she’s almost tackled by an excited five-year-old. But she does see the look on the face of Tom’s sister. Confusion and as if she’s probably about to grill her darling brother.

Charlie scoops up Evie in her arms. “You  _brought_  food, lovely. That’s so nice of you.”

Over the top of Evie’s head, Charlie can still see Emma staring at Tom. And Tom, who looks just as bad as Charlie feels - maybe worse - and who doesn’t say anything back, but just stares.

Oh goodness, this will go south very quickly. And so, being the fucking Samaritan that Charlie is, she decides to rescue her stupid ass of a boyfriend. Or whatever.

“It’s so nice that you’ve brought something, sweety,” she says, loud enough for Emma to hear. “I’ve just gone to get breakfast and then I realised I’ve forgotten my money.” Charlie opens her eyes wide to make Evie giggle in her arms. “Can you believe it?”

“That’s very stupid,” Evie nods.

“Evie…” She hears Tom’s voice for the first time today, and it sounds horrible. Well, not  _horrible_ horrible, but rough and like he hasn’t slept at all.

“No, it’s okay.” She tickles the girl. “So very stupid of me.”

Emma watches her, Charlie can feel it. Damn it, she’s such a bad liar, this was a horrible idea. She makes her way towards the pair at the door anyway.

“So,” Tom’s sister starts, “you’ve spent the night then?”

“Did you have a sleepover?” Evie adds with that enthusiasm only children seem to have.

Well, shit.

For fuck’s sake.

Tom stands up a little straighter and summons his acting skills to ut a semblane of a smile on his face. Looks like neither Charlie nor he will be spared today.

Before he can answer, Charlie plays Good Samaritan again, not quite meeting his eyes. “Sort of, Evie, yes. We watched movies and ate yummy lasagne.”

“That’s lovely,” Emma says, her voice dripping with doubt.

Fucking hell, this is all going to go south. Charlie is an awful liar and he isn’t any better. And children have a way of sensing when you take them for a ride–as do sisters, inevitably.

God, he can’t even look at Charlie’s face because he feels so damn regretful and guilty and hurt. He’d promised her to leave her alone, and now this. He should’ve called his sister and warned her or something. Should’ve…he doesn’t know what he should’ve or shouldn’t have done, to be honest.

Swallowing thickly, Tom stretches his lips in what he hopes is a convincing smile.

“Yeah, it was so lovely we forgot the time and ended up sleeping too late. And now we’re stupid and forgetting breakfast.”

Evie giggles. She squirms down out of Charlie’s arms and chants “stupid, stupid, stupid”. Then she takes his hand and Charlie’s hand and drags them into the building. “You’re soooo lucky that Auntie Emma and I came with food.”

Yeah. Totally. He feels like the luckiest man in the world right now. Not.

* * *

And so they sit together not ten minutes later with Evie happily munching away on a croissant with jam while babbling about something. Tom has no idea what it’s about because he’s not listening. At all.

Every time he glances at Charlie sitting on the other side of the table, she’s staring at her muffin as if it has offended her. She’s not listening either it seems.

In the last ten minutes she’s jerked when they’ve touched twice and Tom can feel Emma’s eyes burning into him.

His own cinnamon Danish is almost untouched but he’s already almost through his second cup of coffee at least.

“Are you guys hungover or something?” Emma asks after what feels like an eternity.

Tom can see Charlie jerk - again - and he must look equally panicked.

“What is ‘hunnover’?” Of course, Evie immediately catches the new word. Thank you, Emma.

“'Hungover’ is a short illness grown-ups sometimes get,” his sister explains helpfully. Again, thank you.

“Emma,” Tom growls. “Stop it.”

“What?” She has the audacity to actually look offended. Something she’s learnt as a teenager. “You said you’ve had fun and slept late and you didn’t touch your food at all. What else could have happened, hm?”

Before Tom can even think of an answer, something appropriate for Evie as well, Charlie is out of her seat. “Excuse me,” she mumbles before marching into the kitchen.

At least she’s not leaving again.

“Tom?” Emma asks.

“Excuse me too,” he mutters and shoots out of his own chair to all but run after Charlie.

He dimly hears Evie whisper loudly to Emma, “These two are so funny sometimes” and grimaces. This is definitely not fun.

He slows down in the doorway to the kitchen, his heart clenching painfully.

Charlie is standing at the counter by the sink, her hands clutching the surface in a white-knuckled grip and her shoulders hunched.

He really wants to go over and run a soothing hand down her back. Or hug her and promise her everything will be fine. But he seems to suck at promises and at making things alright.

And so he says what he has been reduced to saying all the time around her, dammit.

“I’m sorry.”

Charlie jumps almost two feet in the air when she hears Tom’s voice from behind her. Hasn’t she made it clear that she wants to be alone?

“What for?” She doesn’t mean to sound so harsh and she also won’t turn around to see the hurt on his face. But dammit all, she simply wanted to get her car, not have a nice family breakfast.

But nothing is ever simple, is it?

“I… I don’t… everything I guess,” Tom stammers, and it feels worse than yesterday, if that is even possible.

Of course he is. He’s always sorry for everything, even if it’s not his doing. It doesn’t make up for the times it actually is his fault, though.

Charlie huffs. “You didn’t invite Emma over, did you?”

“No.”

“And I assume you didn’t wait in front of the door for two hours?”

“No, of course not.”

Charlie sighs. “Then this is really not your fault this time.”

Tom’s steps come closer and his voice is nearer when he speaks next. It makes Charlie jump, again. She seems to be doing that a lot. That, and being tense around him. “But I’m really sorry for making a mess out of this.”

It is a mess indeed. But isn’t it mean to just blame Tom? “I helped, I guess.”

“You always help,” Tom blurts out.

He hates how she’s so jumpy and tense around him now. How did they go from being (reluctant) friends and then becoming (tentative) lovers–who still haven’t managed to make love–to this…whatever this is? And why did he let it come this far?

Charlie’s voice interrupts his morose thoughts, and now he’s the one who flinches. “Is that all I am to you? Somebody who helps?”

“What the fuck–no!” Tom winces again. “Sorry.”

Oh great, another mess and another apology.

Tom clears his throat but his voice still comes out croaky. “You mean a lot to me, Charlotte. You know that.”

He sounds a bit too desperate to his own ears. He’s also taken two more steps closer and made her tense up again while she’s still not turning to look at him.

Whatever she may have answered gets drowned out in Evie’s words, startling them both into wheeling around and staring guiltily at the child that has suddenly joined them in the kitchen.

“You two aren’t hunnover. You’re having a fight. Aren’t you? Please don’t fight.”

See? That’s why Charlie thinks she’s horrible at lying. Because it’s true and because even Evie can see that.

“Oh no, sweetie. It’s all good,” Charlie croaks out, crouching down to be on eye level with the child that still stands in the doorway with a heartbreaking expression on her face as if she’s never going to be happy again.

Wow, that hurts.

Half in front and half next to her Charlie sees Tom doing the same. Crouching down and reaching out to Evie. “We promise it’s all good.”

Evie scrunches up her nose. “Daddy, you said we don’t lie here. And it’s better to tell the truth.” Her arms are crossed and Charlie feels like she’s being told off by her own mother.

“You’re right,” Tom says. “But sometimes grown-ups have very, very complicated talks. And it’s not fighting, it’s…” He shrugs his shoulders and looks at Charlie a little helplessly.

Great, she helping him again. “Sometimes grown-ups are a little mad at each other. But it’s got nothing to do with anyone else. And sometimes we’re a little sad too. But it will pass and then everything will be good again.”

“Like when Mummy died and then you came, Charlie?”

Oh goodness. Charlie’s almost sobbing now. What to say now?

“Like when Charlie came after Mummy died, yes,” Tom answers in that moment, and Charlie has to look away and wipe away a tear. Damn him and his entire family of lovely people.

“So you’re definitely not fighting?” His daughter asks again, those huge eyes tearing him apart slowly and viciously.

“Definitely not,” he forces out, choking on fresh tears and still not risking a proper glance at Charlie, who’s sniffling very quietly.

Evie’s chin goes up, wobbling a bit. “I wan’ you to promise me.You two are not allowed to fight ‘cause I need everything to be good again. Hold my hands and promise.”

Well, Jesus fucking Christ.

Pulling himself together, he holds out a hand, noticing Charlie do the same and shooting him an emotional glance. His throat is full of rusty nails or something, and he clears it and swallows.

“Promise?” Evie asks, and they both echo “promise”.

Abruptly, Evie lets their hands go and claps, her face breaking out in such a beaming smile that his heart dies all over again.

“Yay. Now kiss and make up.”

What?! Isn’t she a funny thing, his little daughter? A funny, little, terribly irritating thing. Tom swallows. They can’t kiss. At this moment, Charlie would surely rather eat her own hand than kissing him.

“Evie,” he starts, but his daughter is - of course - faster than him and prepared.

“We always have to kiss and make up and if you don’t, I think you lied to me.”

Well, damn. She surely got that from her mother, there’s no way, he’s as irritating as that. And stubborn.

“Evie, love,” he says again but is interrupted by the woman with the tears in her eyes, who is sitting next to him.

“Oh for fudge’s sake,” she mumbles and before Tom can register what’s happening, she leans forward and places a tiny kiss on his cheek quickly.

Then - probably as a distraction for Evie because it wasn’t a real kiss - she grabs at the little girl to start tickling her. Evie squeaks and laughs and pretty much seems to forget the conversation at hand.

Tom sits there, stunned. He lets himself fall onto his butt and watches the two girls.

He doesn’t deserve those two, does he? He’s known that much, but yesterday and today made that painfully obvious. Charlie is a much better, unbroken human being than he is.

“Are you just going to sit there and look as if the moon dropped into your teacup?” his sister’s voice interrupts him.

Tom jerks–yay, again–and meets her knowing, rather strict gaze guiltily.

“Em, I…”

“Don’t ‘Em, I’ me, Thomas,” she says quietly while Evie is still laughing and Charlie is studiously avoiding to look at them. “You must’ve fucked something up last night, that much is obvious. And if you really don’t want to talk about it, fine. But I won’t sit by and watch you chase away the one woman who can live with your sorry arse AND make your life happier.”

Well, hell. Tom gapes at her.

He dimly registers Charlie whispering something to Evie, who shoots off like a rocket towards her room.

“It’s alright, Emma” she then says softly, her voice shaky.

“No, it fucking isn’t.” Oh, was he the one who said that? Judging from the looks the two women give him, it was indeed him.

Charlie stares at him, she can’t help it. Tom is shaking his head, running his hands through his hair and breathes hard.

“Tom, it,” she begins her sentence, not really knowing how to continue, but she can’t see him being this riled up about something he can’t really help. He needs time, she got that, it’s just the circumstances that hurt her.

“No. Stop it,” he almost hisses, making her stare even more. Emma right next to her is tense as well now. “Stop trying to make me feel better. Emma’s right. You  _are_  making my life happier. Have been doing it for some time now.” He still doesn’t look at her, but continues. “And it’s not right to demand and demand, expect you to be there for me and not giving you anything in return.”

Now, he does look up, looking incredibly guilty with tears glistening in his eyes. Is that really what he thinks they’re doing here?

“But I love to help you, Tom. You and Evie. And I… I love both of you. And I don’t expect you to give me sex in return for me helping you. You know that. That’d be just stupid. I just… I just want…” Well, what does she want really?

It’s just now that she realises Emma has left. Huh.

“What do you want? I can… I don’t know what I can give you, but I want to do something,” Tom croaks. He’s still looking a little stunned, though also desperate now. And he’s back to crouching, not sitting on his butt anymore.

“I want you to open up to me. Not with sex or heavy make out sessions or something.” Charlie almost blushes at this. “I want to have a little bit of you. Please.”

He can do that, can’t he? He’s been giving little bits and pieces of himself for the past few months, sometimes without realizing it.

Feeling a glimmer of hope, Tom leans closer and holds out a hand.

“You have more than a little bit of me. Definitely a lot of my heart. It’s just…I think my brain doesn’t want to fall into step with my heart. So you don’t have as many pieces of that.”

Great, he’s not making sense anymore. Surely Emma is sneering at him. Huh, where’d Emma go all of a sudden?

He has no time to wonder because Charlie is taking his hand, and nothing–well, almost nothing–has ever felt this relieving.

“Will you give me…give us another chance?” he asks. 

She sighs. Heavily. He really doesn’t know, does he?

“I’ve always given us a chance. I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” she answers, giving his hand a small squeeze and him a little, teary, smile. “I’ve not given up after the disaster that was our first kiss. Or when you didn’t want to date me, or…”

“It’s okay, I’ve fucked up a lot, I get it,” Tom interrupts, blushing deep red.

This time her smile is bigger. “I mean to say, I’m going to stay here as well. Waiting, if I have to. Just promise me to try, please. And maybe tell me how we can turn off that brain of yours.”

Tom feels as if a 100-pound boulder has been dropped off his shoulders.

“I’ve never been very good at shutting off my brain, to be frank.” He gives her a tentative smile, his eyes still stining a little. “But I guess I’ll just have to let myself feel more and think less.”

Charlie gives him another small smile and he realizes how truly blessed he is.

“I felt so much after…after… and then I simply tried not to let myself feel anything at all,” he confessed. “So I suppose I need to teach myself to be more like the pre-tragedy Tom and admit to my emotions again.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Charlie says, squeezing his fingers again.

Tom pushes himself. “I know you said you need some time…but shall we seal the deal with a kiss?”

“Do  _you_  want to seal the deal with a kiss?” Charlie asks, and Tom understands why. He hasn’t been really forthcoming with his feelings these past months. It forthcoming with his actions as well, actually.

Tom looks at Charlie’s small hand in his, looks at her kind eyes, that are still a little misty, but also seem to smile at him. Just as her lips do, which he inspects the next moment.

He feels her body heat radiating from her even though sitting a few feet apart.

And he knows. Well, he knew before, but after that disaster and almost losing her - again - he really does know.

“Yes,” he whispers, then clears his throat because that didn’t come out nearly strong enough. “Yes. I’d absolutely like that.”

Charlie’s smile grows and Tom can feel his own becoming a little more relaxed. “Do it then.”

Tom sneaks a furtive glance behind him, but neither Emma nor Evie are to be seen.

He scoots closer and lifts his free hand to cradle Charlie’s face in it. He’s going to do this right, come what may.

Charlie’s lids flutter closed, so he leans in and brushes his lips butterfly-soft over both eyelids, then skims them down her cute nose.

She makes the softest sigh and sways towards him, so he lets his hand glide down to hold her neck. He slants his mouth over hers and lets himself fall into the kiss.

No tongue, no nibbling. Just mouth on mouth and a lot of feelings poured into such a simple yet powerful touch.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks later, and Tom makes more than up for the disaster that was their last Date.

 

It’s been two days from hell for Charlie. Two nightshifts, many children with horrible flus, and parents that were almost crying themselves.

And now? Now she’s cosy at home in her flat, sweatpants and a too big shirt on, with a glass of red wine on the table – it is after 4 p.m. after all – and curled up under a blanket, the cat with the same name at Charlie’s feet.

She doesn’t need to be at the hospital today and she’s enjoying it. The only human contact she’s going to have is Tom bringing over Evie’s car seat so Charlie can pick her up from pre-school and have a sleepover with her tomorrow night.

She’s having sleepovers with Tom’s daughter. At her flat. Sometimes, she doesn’t quite believe it.

The last couple of weeks have been a little awkward at first. Charlie didn’t want to do too much, Tom not too little. But they’ve found their rhythm again and Tom has opened up.

Charlie shakes her head at herself, feeling that stupid grin stealing itself on her face. Like a freaking teenager.

Tom parks the car at the place he now firmly considers “his spot”, feeling a smile break out on his face.

The past couple of weeks started rough but got better. For him, it’s been a lot of mental kicks in the butt to open himself up more, but he’s always been a man who loves a challenge. And if the prize at the end of the race–so to speak–is the love of a wonderful woman, then he’s damn well going to do his best.

Charlie and he have found their rhythm, and though the dance is sometimes still awkward and they stumble or step on the other’s toes, they’re definitely swaying to the same tune now.

Great, he’s speaking in musical metaphors. Charlie would roll her eyes at that. Or add her own ones, and a pun or two.

His smile widening, Tom gets out and grabs Evie’s car seat. Stubborn as always, she insists on having her own special car seat in Charlie’s car, refusing to use the one Charlie’s nephews use. She’s kind of staked a claim on Charlie, and Tom is in equal measure amused and terrified about it.

Nope, no panicking.

Straightening his shoulders, he walks up to the door and rings the bell, wondering whether it’s too presumptuous to ask for a spare key.

Charlie jumps a bit. She’s been so deep into her book, she hasn’t heard anything from the world outside.

Tom told her he would come though.

Blanket simply stretches lazily, not a care in the world. She pats her head on the way to the door, only now considering the mess she’s in.

Apart from wearing simple sweatpants and a ridiculously big shirt, she also didn’t bother with make-up or a nice hair do.

Well, they’re obviously in  _that_  state of their relationship now. Tom will have to live with it.

If it is Tom at the door, that is.

Charlie opens it and indeed there is her boyfriend, car seat in hand, wearing his jeans and a sweatshirt, his hair hidden under a hat and glasses on his nose. The beard is still there as well. Good. Charlie loves the beard.

She smiles at him, can’t help herself really. Tom smiles back.

“Hi,” she greets, the butterflies coming to life in her belly.

“Hi yourself.”

Tom scans Charlie from head to toe, knowing that one of his brows is rising in that habit he has.

“Is that how you greet your knight in shining armour with his miniature-carriage? Doesn’t strike me like a shiny ballgown.” He can’t himself from quipping.

Charlie simultaneously blushes and snorts. “Last time I checked, I was doing all the saving, so technically you’re the damsel in distress and I’m the knight.”

He throws his head back at that to guffaw. “Ehehehe. I had that one coming, didn’t I?”

Leaning the car seat against the wall, he steps in and leans close. “And anyway, you don’t need a ballgown to look beautiful.”

Oh, she’s blushing even more at that! He really should flirt more with her, even though they’re kind of over that stage–or perhaps skipped it altogether. And the thing is…it’s the honest to God truth. She does look beautiful to him.

“Where’s Mr. Grumpy and what did you do to him, you Hiddleston imposter?” Charlie asks with mock indignation, but he can hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes that she appreciates the compliment.

Plus, he really is Mr. Grumpy a lot of the times, isn’t he? Tom wonders - not for the first time - if Charlie merely makes a joke, or if she really thinks him too little joyful.

So, he leans even closer, smelling Charlie’s shampoo, the scent of her soap and a little bit of wine on her breath. She really must have had some exhausting days, if it’s baggy clothes and wine time.

Tom’s actually quite proud of himself for knowing Charlie that well. He’s also proud of the fact that Charlie’s breathing hitches and he can feel her inhale sharply.

“I should compliment you more often, shouldn’t I?” he whispers into her ear and her shudder makes Tom smile.

“I definitely appreciate the effort, yes,” Charlie whispers back, a hand shooting out for the belt loop of his jeans to hook her fingers around it.

Oh. Interesting.

She feels a bit dizzy. Has she had that much wine already? Nope, can’t be the wine, she’s barely had a few sips.

Must be Tom. She half-wishes he wouldn’t make her so breathless, half-wishes he’d make her even more breathless.

Speaking of which… His breath was fanning across her ear, so close that it tickled sensually and that she could almost feel his lips on her skin.

“Well, then I’ll just put in some more effort, won’t I?” Tom asked, his voice dipping into that low, almost purring register that definitely is a good stealer of breath.

“But in order for me to pay you more compliments, I’d have to stay. And technically you still haven’t asked me in.”

Charlie blinks. Huh, he’s right about that. Then again…

“Seeing you’ve already crossed the threshold, asking you in is a bit redundant, Tom.”

“Maybe I’m a vampire and I need an invitation?”

She can hear the slight grin in his voice, her brain going fuzzy when she remembers him as the tragically beautiful Adam in ‘Only Lovers Left Alive’.

“Oooh, I’m shivering in fear,” she tries to retort sarcastically but her voice sounds all wrong for that.

“I don’t think it’s fear that has you shivering,” Tom replies, confirming the sentiment when his big hands slide around her waist to draw her close and make her shudder.

They’re standing so close together now, Charlie feeling equal parts warm - hot actually - and at the same time cold shivers running down her spine.

And he hasn’t even kissed her yet.

She looks up just in time to see Tom’s gaze shifting to her eyes again, being fixated on her lips before, and licking his own.

Their lips are almost touching when he leans even closer. His nose bumping hers. Charlie can feel his lips on hers already when he whispers, “Invite me in.”

“Come in?” is all she can croak before finally, Tom kisses her. It’s little sparks and little shocks. It’s slow just for a short time before Tom presses more firmly, making her moan and open her lips to  _really_  invite him in.

It’s different somehow but she can’t really pinpoint why.

* * *

This is different somehow.

That’s the last thought that registers in Tom’s mind before he lets himself sink into the kiss.

He isn’t even sure how it’s happened, but he hears the door fall shut–has he kicked it closed?–and then a soft thud as he pushes Charlie up against the wood so he can claim her mouth properly.

He feels everything at once: her hands fisting in his sweatshirt, her tongue tangling with his, her moan traveling through him, her skin as one of his hands wanders beneath the big, well-worn shirt.

Charlie responds to Tom’s touch with a tiny - maybe not so tiny - whimper. She’s stopped thinking a while ago, only registers Tom’s lips meeting hers, Tom’s tongue meeting hers and his warm hand against the warm skin of her tummy.

She repositions her hands from Tom’s sweatshirt to his shoulders, travelling up his arms. With one hand she gets rid of that ridiculous hat, which he somehow believes makes him unrecognizable.

Then she’s dragging Tom closer to her, her hands behind his neck, her fingers playing with the little curls of his hair there.

He seems to like it if she goes by the soft groan that leaves his mouth.

She smiles into the kiss, can’t help herself really. “You like that, huh?”

He does. Perhaps a bit too much.

But maybe with her, too much isn’t nearly enough?

He murmurs assent against her lips before nibbling at them. His fingers dance across her hips to the small of her back and he pushes against the tender spot so she isn’t pressed against the door anymore but against his body.

One of his legs insinuates itself between her thighs as he hauls her even closer, and this time she’s the one with the soft groan-whimper.

“And you like that, huh?” Tom asks back, wondering if he should clear his throat because his voice doesn’t really want to cooperate.

Yes. Yes, she does like it and Charlie doesn’t even know how to react.

She’s not used to this. Well, she is in general, obviously. But she’s not used to this with Tom.

Of course, he’s put in some real effort, Charlie knows that and she feels it. And by feeling she doesn’t only mean Tom’s lower body currently pressed against hers.

He’s let himself sink into kisses, laugh more and he’s told her a lot more. Funny stories, sad stories. There’s been some heavy make out sessions as well.

But this seems to be going in another direction. She’s not pressuring him, right? She’s not assuming something again to then be disappointed?

But he does look like a willing participant. And he’s asked a question. Right.

“Hmm,” she murmurs as an answer. But she’s got questions on her own.

“Tom…I… are you… ugh.” Okay. That’s not as articulated as she thought it would be.

Tom answers with a grunt and firm fingers on her back. Huh.

“Are we?” she tries again. And obviously fails.

He has an inkling what Charlie is trying and failing to ask, and for a moment his heart stops beating and panic shoots through him.

But she’s doing that thing where her body is–instinctively–rubbing itself against his and her voice sounds all breathy, and so he chokes the fear back down.

“I have no idea,” he manages to say before shifting and bending a bit. It brings his thigh firmer in contact with Charlie, which causes more rubbing and writhing, and it also makes him reach the perfect height for neck kisses.

Tom loves those. Always has, always will. Whether he’s on the receiving or the giving end. And so he snarls silently at his brain to shut up and nuzzles his fill, hoping his beard isn’t too scratchy on Charlie’s skin.

* * *

His beard feels wonderful against Charlie’s skin. It’s friction everywhere - body against body, thigh against her core, beard and goodness that mouth against her neck - and Charlie almost forgets that Tom’s answer wasn’t that satisfying.

Everything else is, though.

Charlie lets one hand go from Tom’s neck to his front. Travelling down, lower and lower, until he hisses when she reaches his crotch. He’s definitely just as turned on as she is.

But that doesn’t really mean anything. Even when he groans and bites her neck - which makes her groan in return - in what Charlie interprets as encouragement to go on.

“Say if you want to stop, please.” Is that panting something really her voice?! She hasn’t sound like that in a really long time. It’d be horrible to stop now.

He jerks a bit, stops for a moment. “Do you want to stop?”

“Fuck, no.”

It’s a little embarrassing how fast she answers and that “no pressure” talk is kind of moot now.

But Tom latches on to her neck again and Charlie can’t do anything else than squeeze him in return. And they both groan and pant and goodness, they’re still standing in her hall and damn it, she doesn’t care.

God, this feels good!

Charlie tastes divine–he already knew that–and she’s making all sorts of little breathy noises, and he’s pretty sure his brain will shut up on its own because all the blood has definitely gone south.

Bucking into Charlie’s touch, Tom frees a hand to tug on the ridiculous sweater. It bares more to him than he’d thought because it’s so loose–and holy fuck, she’s not wearing a bra.

Apparently, it’s “let’s see how quickly I can kill Tom” night today, and how the hell is he supposed to think straight now?

Sure, they’ve made out before, but not quite so heavily and almost always with the fear of being discovered by Evie. So this is the first time he’s seen Charlie’s naked breasts.

What to do first? Look his fill? Touch and fondle? Use his mouth on her already hard, begging-for-attention nipples?

Charlie makes that decision for him when she presses herself against him, her breasts against his chest, and Tom can’t seem to do anything but touch her.

They fit in his hands perfectly. Charlie seems to think so too with those tiny breathy noises she makes, especially as Tom brushes her nipple with his thumb.

In return, he feels Charlie’s hand reach for the button of his jeans, her fingers finding the way inside his boxers.

“Oh god,” he can’t help but moan.

It’s been awhile for him. Since anyone else but Tom himself touched him there. Since he’s felt anything like this.

He shouldn’t think about it, but it hasn’t been that long for Charlie. There was Jeremy, though that’s been Tom’s own stupid mistake.

Before he can think about anything else, Charlie’s hand squeezes and any blood that’s still been in his brain leaves to go south.

“Fuck,” he whispers and Charlie echoes the sentiment.

* * *

They’re definitely going to do this, aren’t they?

Charlie’s surprised she can still think because she’s kind of having an out of body experience while at the same time feeling everything twice as intensely.

It wasn’t like this before. Surely she’d remember that.

Tom feels amazing–and huge–in her hand. Steel cloaked in silk. She strokes and squeezes in time with his fingers on her breast, knowing and not caring that she’s somehow still rubbing herself against his thigh.

So their first time is going to be in the hallway? Fuck it, why not? She’ll have him any way and every way, she realizes.

Only…he doesn’t seem to feel the same way about it. His free fingers are clamped around her wrist like a vise, stilling her hand.

Oh God. Oh no. If he panics and stops now, she WILL kill him. Gruesomely.

“Don’t,” he wheezes more than speaks, his voice deliciously raspy. “If you touch me like this, I won’t last. It’s…it’s been a while. A long while. And I want you so badly.”

Tom rests his forehead against hers, panting like a marathon runner. “Give me a second so I won’t embarrass myself.”

Charlie nods frantically. Okay, so they ARE doing this after all.

They’re so going to do this. Well, at least if Tom somehow gets back a little control over his body.

If Charlie touches him one more time, this will be over in ten seconds, in Charlie’s hallway before they even get the chance to remove one single piece of clothing.

And it may have been a while but Tom knows you should undress at least a little bit.

So he starts counting in his head. In ancient Greek. Backwards from 100.

Charlie loosens the grip on his member a little bit, which helps. God, he’s panting like he’s either a 14-year-old seeing boobs for the first time or an elderly having a heart attack.

“You okay?” Charlie whispers and plays with the hair that curls at his neck. She’s shaking as well as far as Tom can tell.

“More than okay actually,” he whispers back. And it’s true. He hasn’t been that okay in a long time.

He’s also still counting in his head.

And then loses track immediately when Charlie presses herself closer against his thigh at the same time as her lips seek his and she whispers a, “touch me” that goes straight to his cock.

Fucking hell, how’s a man supposed to survive this?

His hand moves even before Tom’s brain can intervene or struggle to remember 78 in ancient Greek. It slides low and lower still until it wedges itself between Charlie and his thigh, and…

“God, you’re wet,” he groans, so aroused it’s agonizing. She’s soaked her sweatpants, and Tom is pretty sure he’s never wanted anything as much as getting closer to all that wet heat with his hands, his mouth, his cock.

Charlie shudders and digs her teeth into his shoulder for a second though he’s only brushed over her clothes.

“For you.” Hell, she really shouldn’t be allowed to sound so sexy and needy. “Tom, touch me. Really touch me.”

Her grip on him tightens at the same time, and he could really fucking do with some self-control right about now.

And so he forces himself to take a step back although every cell in his body protests.

“Bed,” he rasps out.

She whines at the loss of contact between them. It’s quite embarrassing really, but Charlie can’t make herself care too much right about now.

She also feels dizzy with weak knees that try to support her weight with Tom gone.

Tom, who looks as disheveled and out of it as Charlie feels. She can’t help but smirk seeing his swollen lips and messed up hair, and knowing she’s the cause for the state he’s in.

So, it’s not going to be the hallway then. Okay.

Charlie nods, taking Tom’s hand, grabbing it really, and leads him towards her bedroom. They’ve been in there to sleep before, but this is going to be new.

“The bed it is,” she smirks and then laughs and screams a little when Tom walks past her with two long strides and turns around to lift her up, grabbing her arse to support her.

Charlie wraps her legs around Tom’s hips, the movement causing their lower bodies to meet and both of them to moan before Tom finds her lips with his again.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans against her, his steps faltering a little on the way to her room.

Charlie never knew the way to the bed is this long.

* * *

Why does her bedroom have to be at the end of what feels at least as long as an Atlantic crossing?

Even with his wingspan, it seems to take Tom forever to get there. Probably because they’re kissing and he’s stumbling and his hands beneath her butt are so close to the slick promised land.

But finally they’ve arrived and he decides enough is enough. Falling onto the bed with Charlie still in his arms, their limbs tangling, he swallows her laugh and turns it into another moan when he rolls on top of her and grinds down.

And suddenly his hands are everywhere, and hers are too.

The walk to the bed might’ve lasted ages, but it feels as if they’re moving with the speed of light now. Next thing he knows, he’s only wearing his jeans and Charlie is naked and too beautiful for him to breathe.

Somehow, he finds words, half-groaning them. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous, Charlie.”

“Don’t…talk…” she pants, her fingers struggling with the button and zipper on his trousers. “Touch. Me.  _Now_.”

And so he does. Tom isn’t aware of the “how” but he somehow manages to prop himself up with one elbow to not put all of his weight on Charlie, and then his index finger slowly touches her at her most intimate part.

“Jesus,” he gasps at the same moment Charlie howls out a long drawn out, “Fuck!”

She gives up on Tom’s jeans buttons, her hands shooting up to grab his upper arms, nails digging into his flesh.

Simultaneously, her hips buck up and she moves into his hand.

“Move,” she almost begs and Tom complies - again. His fingers find her bundle of nerves while stopping himself from entering her with his fingers. He wants to last, after all.

“You’re so ready,” he breathes against her skin, where he’s lowered his head, his teeth nibbling at the soft skin underneath her ear.

Her nails dig deeper, her hips buck faster and Tom seas stars when Charlie lets loose on one biceps and moves to open his trousers again.

“Want you inside me. Please.”

For the second time, Charlie’s fingers forget their purpose when Tom complies. But instead of giving her what she really wants–no, craves, needs with all her being, so intensely it’s killing her–he slides a long finger inside her.

It’s not enough and too much at the same time. She bucks against his hand, whimpering and swearing.

“Oh p-plea-hease. Please, please, please.”

She clenches around his digit, feeling Tom shudder and curse a blue streak against her neck before he scrapes his teeth over her skin again.

“Let go first. C-come for me, and then you can have me.”

How can he still talk? How can he be so fucking mean and not give in to her pleas?

Even those questions aren’t possible to think anymore when Tom adds another of those dangerously dexterous fingers and crooks them both.

“C’mon, Charlie.”

He fixes her in his intense gaze, pupils blown wide, one sweat-soaked curl on his forehead. Ugh, why is that eye contact so hot, why can’t she get away from it to close her eyes and explode?

Tom seems to be as shaken and frenzied as her, though she isn’t sure she can trust her eyes or even breathe because she’s hurtling towards paradise.

Charlie feels herself shaking but still something is holding her back. She can’t stop thinking. How ironic.

But then she feels Tom’s lips and teeth against her jaw, nibbling and biting and then his tongue licking and his hot shuddering breath.

“Let go, come for me and then make me yours.”

He’s pumping his fingers faster and is panting against her skin, while his thumb finds her little bud and it’s like heaven and hell combined.

“Ooooooh, Tom. I…” she gasps and it’s Tom’s whispered and just as needy “yes” that finally sends her over the edge.

It’s white light and Charlie is shuddering and clenching around Tom’s fingers while drenching them. She doesn’t know what she’s saying, but she’s mumbling words and Tom is whispering something next to her.

But all she can concentrate on is the feeling inside her and that orgasm that makes shivers run through her body and her toes curl and her lips part.

When she comes down from her high Tom is panting just as heavily as she is, eyes closed and his body pressed against her.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, shaking lips against her mouth. “And you’re mine.”

When did he become so possessive? Tom wonders briefly, but it’s all he can do to speak because her orgasm felt so intense he nearly came himself.

He should probably start counting in ancient Greek again, but right about now he barely knows his full name.

Tom waits for Charlie’s lids to flutter open and for her last ripples to travel through his fingers before he withdraws them slowly. It earns him another of those breathy whimpers, and then Charlie’s hands are back on his trousers for the millionth time–only to falter yet again when he brings his drenched fingers to his mouth to lick them clean.

“Fucking hell, Tom.” It’s a moan and a whine rolled into one. “Now.”

She’s delicious. He should probably have a proper taste, but for the life of him he cannot wait any longer.

Tom nods, then bats her trembling, fumbling hands away to rid himself of his jeans and boxers.

“Now.”

His boxers are half-way down his legs when he freezes, his eyes shooting wide open.

He swallows thickly. “Protection?”

Damn him. He’s really out to kill her, isn’t he? Charlie sighs for probably the millionth time this afternoon and is close to saying ‘fuck it all’ - literally.

But shit, she’s a doctor and though he’s probably clean and Charlie knows she is as well, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Plus, Tom is going to die if they make a baby right now.

“I hate you,” she grumbles. “I really hate you.” Still holding Tom against her with one strong hand, the other arm reaches out to the bedside table, rips open the top drawer and grabs a condom from somewhere.

Her only comfort is that Tom looks just as desperate as she does.

“Here.” She almost throws the package at Tom who fumbles a bit but finally - Oh finally - manages to open it.

And then suddenly he’s touching Charlie’s folds with his cock, coating him, and groans.

With a gasp - from both of them - he enters her and she’s full and it’s great and she doesn’t know what to feel.

This must be what heaven feels like. Or maybe it’s hell too?

Tom shudders, feeling all that tight, wet heat envelop him, even with the condom sheathing him.

Charlie’s so slick that he’s slid in almost all the way–and while he’s still taking a moment to compose himself, she tilts her hips and wriggles, and he slides even deper.

Holy fuck.

He needs to breathe. To move. No no no, not move. He’ll lose it.

But Charlie keeps writhing and making pleading noises, and when she finally tries to get him to move by grabbing his butt, all bets are off.

Tom curls an arm around his woman–yes, at this moment, she is HIS–and braces himself with the other, and finally finally begins to thrust, his teeth gritted.

In his head he’s chanting ‘not yet, not yet, not yet’ to himself before he clenches his jaw, feeling the sweat roll off his back.

“Fuck, I… you… fuck,” is all he manages to string together right now, not even knowing what he’s trying to articulate.

Maybe that Charlie is beautiful like this? Pressed down by his weight, writhing and jerking and panting underneath him?

Or that she drives him crazy with those nails that dig deep into his shoulder blades now that they’ve wandered from his butt? That her moans almost make him come undone?

That he loves the feeling of her legs now wrapped around his waist?

And then she clenches around him, not once or twice but three times and Tom goes rigid. One more move, he’s sure, and this is literally coming to an end.

Panting hard, he rests his forehead against Charlie’s and tries to compose himself.

“Tom.” The whisper is pleading and raspy.

He shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “No. Y-you first. Again. Don’t know.”

He uncurls his arm, but presses Charlie into the mattress with his body instead. With his now free hand he touches Charlie again. This time, right where they meet.

With a slow, deliberate breath Tom starts moving again.

This can’t be happening. Surely real life isn’t like this.

Charlie is 200 percent certain that she’s never had this experience before. Coming so intensely, being so overwhelmed, wanting so much more.

It’s a dream, right? She’ll wake up any minute now, frustratingly unsatisfied and alone in her bed with her hand between her legs, as it’s happened before when she’s had a sexy dream about Tom.

But the man between her legs and the fingers relentlessly circling around her slippery, swollen nub feel all too real.

As does the tight sensation in her belly that has her clench again.

Fucking hell, there’s that strangled groan from Tom again, with a tiny gasp at the end.

Charlie could come like this, listening to that sound–though it sure as hell helps what he’s doing between her legs.

She’s torn between staring at where they’re joined so heavenly and staring at Tom’s face, sweaty, with a hauntingly gorgeous exression almost of pain, his jaw clenched and his forehead wrinkled in a frown of intense concentration or self-control.

Ad then she can’t stare at all anymore because Tom angles and rolls his hips just so and it’s all fireworks and a breathless scream.

It’s what does it for Tom as well. Maybe it’s the noise Charlie makes, that raspy whimper that ends up as a scream or the way she looks while she orgasms.

If it’s not that, it’s definitely the way she clenches around him now, holding him to her.

The sensation isn’t new to Tom and at the same time it is. It begins in his belly and then stretches out, enveloping his whole body.

He can’t hold his rhythm - Charlie doesn’t seem to mind - but thrusts deeper to make up for it, and because he  _needs_  to.

With a gasp, a scream and a chanting of Charlie’s name, Tom fucks and pushes the woman underneath him deeply into the mattress before he jerks, goes rigid and finally finds that sweet relief inside of her.

He can’t do anything more than press his sweaty, shivering and panting body against Charlie’s, probably almost crushing her with his weight.

The gentleman inside him knows he should move but they’re still connected and it feels so great. He’s also gone numb and couldn’t move any of his limbs even if his life depended on it.

While he buries his face in Charlie’s neck, he can feel her fingers draw small patterns over his shoulders and back.

Tom purrs just like Boots and Blanket do when you give them a belly rub.

* * *

That was SO worth waiting for.

That’s the first thought that drifts through Charlie’s short-circuited brain when she can finally breathe again.

Tom is kind of heavy on top of her, but she can’t find a care in the world. Her hand automatically soothes him while the rest of her body is oh so slowly coming back alive.

“Wow.” It’s a hoarse groan against her damp skin, and then Tom clears his throat but otherwise doesn’t move.

“Wow indeed.” She can hear the smile in her voice, feel it stretch wide on her face and glow inside her like her own personal sun.

Bliss. This is what bliss feels like.

Her skin is over-sensitive from Tom’s beard and she’s sure he’s marked her quite a bit with all that nibbling and sucking and kissing. Her body is tingling, she’s a bit sore, and she’s probably never felt better.

Which is probably why her stupid brain refuses to work and her mouth blurts out the next words: “Tom? Can we do that again?”

“Now?!” It sounds way more raspy and less horrified than it could, but Tom’s body - nothing in and on Tom’s body - is up for the particular challenge to yell.

Charlie chuckles and he’s still inside her and it feels wonderful and exhausting at the same time. “I don’t think now would be the appropriate time. Maybe when you’re up for it again.”

See? She uses the same puns as he does.

“I’m always up for it, I just want you to rest.” Plus, he’s in heaven right now and doesn’t want to move, not even for sex.

“That’s very considerate of you.”

Charlie wiggles and moves a little bit, making Tom groan. She can’t do that to him, not now. Maybe in ten minutes.

When she slaps his shoulder a little bit, Tom gets the hint at last. “I’m too heavy, is that it?” He tries to make it sound cute and pouty, bit his voice is still to raspy and tired and Tom’s still out of breath.

“Maybe a little bit.”

With a groan they part, Tom moving to his side, taking Charlie with him in his arms.

“I like your weight on top of me though.”

Shit, she can’t say things like that if she wants him to survive this.

There’s a pause and then Charlie whispers, “But honestly, can we? Do that again, I mean?”

Nope. Definitely not going to survive this.

Tom scrambles frantically for a coherent reply and hears himself answering, “I guess if you did all the work, I could be persuaded.”

Charlie’s head pops up from his shoulder and she gives him a wide-eyed stare, then bursts into girlish and incredibly adorable giggles that make Tom guffaw weakly, wheezing a bit.

The laughter seems to clear his foggy brain a bit, and he groggily takes care of the condom, too weak even to chuckle or cheer when his throw hits the dustbin across the room perfectly.

He settles back down on his back, Charlie’s hot, sweaty body half-draped over him and her fingers drawig idle patterns on his stomach.

“You know,” she whispers after a while, just when Tom thinks they might nap together, “I wouldn’t mind doing all the work.”

He swallows thickly and opens his mouth to answer, but before he can even get one word out - he doesn’t know what to say anyway - he feels Charlie’s lips on him, and the words die in his throat.

Charlie hums, her lips placing chaste little kisses on one of his pecs, trailing a path towards his right nipple.

He inhales sharply - honestly how is there still air left for him? - when Charlie’s fingers stop drawing patterns on his stomach but start travelling up and down Tom’s left side instead. From his hips along his ribcage up to his shoulders he feels the featherlight touch.

She’s not doing anything incredibly erotic, but it’s Charlie. And her fingers on one side paired with her lips and - Tom jerks - her tongue around his nipple make him almost lose his mind.

‘Almost’ becomes ‘definitely’ when Charlie mumbles, “You relax right there,” and throws one leg over Tom’s so he can feel her - still wet? Wet again? - folds pressed against his thigh.

He groans, now drawing patterns on Charlie’s arse with one hand while gripping the bed sheets with his other.

This is nice too. Charlie hums softly to herself. She hasn’t done this in a while, hasn’t felt comfortable enough with her recent boyfriends to take over the reins.

She’s never really considered herself to be a seductress or very demanding, but from the get-go, Tom has brought out sides of her that had been lying hidden.

And why lie to herself–she’s been dying to explore his body for months, been working up to a moment like this.

Besides, deep down, a part of her is also a bit panicky. What if reality sets in soon and Tom starts to freak out or crawl back into his shell? She wans to make the most of this while it lasts.

And so she explores, although Tom’s hand on her butt is wonderfully distracting and although she realizes she’s rubbing her slick folds against him rather wantonly.

Charlie nips the nipple she’s licked, and Tom hisses. She soothes the sting with a soft suck before scraping her teeth over the tender area again. This time, Tom’s fingers dig into her arse cheek, and something twitches against her belly.

Ah, yes. Someone definitely seems to be willing to be persuaded to round two.

And so she gets bolder. Nuzzling her nose in the thin layer of chest hairs, she drags her lips over to Tom’s other nipple, giving it the same treatment she’s given the right one.

The hissing becomes more intense, and now there are nails digging into the flesh of her butt. Charlie hums against him.

The hand that’s been traveling up and down his side is now also exploring his thigh, making Tom’s moans become more breathless and wanting.

When her hand brushes his penis again, his hips buck up and Charlie grins into his chest before removing her hand again.

She’s going to have fun with this. But not too much, because right now she’s almost coming undone herself before anything exciting has even happened.

She travels south with her lips and enjoys the breathy moan that escapes her boyfriend, probably anticipating where this will end.

Dear God, what is it about this woman and wanting to kill him?! Or make him embarrass himself, which is kind of worse.

Control. He needs self-control, dammit. Now would be nice. But his body flips the finger at him and bucks and delights in this new bold version of Charlie.

“You know,” he croaks out, then chokes on a moan when Charlie’s tongue dips into his belly button and swirls. “If my lamentably weak brain was working, I should be begging you for mercy. Hngh.”

He sucks air in between gritted teeth when Charlie takes a slow bite out of the skin next to his hip bone.

“After all,” he tries again while she simply keeps on humming and torturing him, “I’m not the youngest anymore and allowed some rest.”

This time, she does pause to lift her head and raise her brows at him. “You do sound rather wheezy and are all shivery,” she says with such a mock-concerned expression that he’s tempted to tell her she’d make a horrible actress (which is a good thing). “Perhaps I  _should_ be merciful and grant this poor, old man his respite?”

She starts to get off him, withdrawing her hand from low on his abs.

“No! Don’t stop!”

Well, so much for his non-existant self-control…

Charlie smirks. This is so much fun. It’s torturing, being in hell kind of fun, but fun anyway. It’s also fucking arousing.

She pouts, her nose scrunched up. “You really need to get better at decision making, Tom,” Charlie says, shaking her head.

“Stopping, not stopping… what,” she starts and then pauses to now straddle Tom, to which his eyes almost roll back into hi head.

“Is.” Now she sits up, he hands braced on Tom’s chest.

“A woman.” One hand travels down.

“Supposed to do?” Now she grabs his penis, Tom wriggling and moaning underneath her. “Hm?”

“Shit,” is all that leaves him while his hands travel to Charlie’s hips, probably trying to get her to sit on him.

“Nuh-uh. I’ll do all the work, remember?” she whispers, right before she goes in for the kill, dibs down and her lips press a kiss on top of his member.

“Fuck.”

That’s the last full word Tom gets out before his brain short-circuits again.

Did he think he was in heaven-hell before? Then what is this? It’s simultaneously a million times better and a million times worse.

He wants to do all sorts of things at the same time. Thrust up. Take a breath. Grab Charlie’s hair. Beg for more. Tell her to go easy on him. Fist his hands in the sheets so he won’t force her. Oh, and did he mention beg her?

Yeah, it’s going to be beg her–because she keeps teasing him with tiny, almost chaste kisses all over his hardness, her tongue darting out off and on to lick and dip. It’s the. Worst. Torture.

“Charlie.” Wow, he sounds whiny. And breathless. “Please.”

“Nuh-uh,” she repeats, still refusing to really take him into her mouth.

But he can see the way she’s pressing her thighs together, can see her arousal glisten.

Fuck, why is it such a turn-on to see her being turned on because she’s turning him on?

Uh…wait…his brain really isn’t working.

And then he feels a finger trace lower down, and a working brain is the least of his problems.

She takes him fully into her hand and starts pumping while trying desperately to get her own arousal under control.

It’s not easy, her heart is beating, her pulse quickening and the wetness between her legs begs to be cared for.

But it’s Tom’s “Fuck, I… fuck…you,” that spurs her on. His skin is flushed, his eyes are open but heavy lidded and he watches her hand. His lips are parted and it’s the most beautiful sight she’s seen.

“Now. Please.”

It’s what does it for her and so she takes him, still pumping, into her mouth and hums around him. He bucks and thrusts and Charlie can feel how rigid Tom’s body goes, probably trying to restrain himself.

“Hate…you,” he pants and Charlie smirks and chuckles around him.

Lord have mercy, now she’s chuckling around him and it’s sending all sorts of vibrations through him. This’ll be over  _very_ fast if he doesn’t do something.

But what? It’s all he can do to breathe–as little as possible–and just  _be_ , so how can he be expected to do anything else?

Also, he has no idea what he wants more: to come like this or to be inside her again. It’s like choosing between cheesecake and chocolate hobnobs. Impossible.

“Fucking hell, Charlie, please,” he grounds out, not even knowing what he’s begging for, only knowing that he needs it now.

She moans–fucking moans, the minx–around him and he’s hurtling towards no man’s land with a choked whimpery gasp.

And then he sees her snake a hand between her own legs, and that decides it.

Suddenly his hand is fisting in her hair and he all but yanks her off.

“Now,” he growls, and Charlie seems to get the message because she licks her lips and scoots forward.

It’s their luck really that Charlie never managed to get that top drawer closed, because the way Tom yanks at her hair and with how shaky and aroused she is, Charlie would surely forget to grab a condom.

But now, when she reaches Tom’s upper body, finally kissing him, her tongue tangling with his, she - again - grabs for protection.

And then wanders lower again, leaving Tom panting, and smirks at how responsive he is. It’s her task to put on the condom this time and she has to press her thighs together just thinking about what’s going to happen.

It doesn’t really help that Tom splutters and whines and grabs for her.

Slowly, almost lazily, Charlie lowers herself down on Tom’s hard and waiting cock. She moans with him this time, all other thoughts gone from her head when she feels him fill her and she braces herself on his chest.

She sees Tom biting his lip and all she can do is move. Up. And down. Pacing herself - and Tom - when he tries to thrust.

“Dead,” he whispers. “Dead, you’re killing…Uh…me.”

“Stop. Talking,” she pants back, feeling her orgasm approaching so much faster this time.

“Can’t…talk…anyway,” Tom forces out between more pants and groans.

He uses his last teeniest bit of self-control not to thrust up into her or move her body the way he needs her to desperately.

But then she does something swivelly with her hips and clenches around him, and Tom yelps, actually yelps before cursing in one long, breathless moan.

He’s definitely dying. Or coming? Dying and coming? Coming while dying? Who the hell knows.

Reacting on pure instinct while everything goes black and white and then really colourful for him, he brings his hand to where they’re joined and rubs.

It’s so fucking (no pun intended, or maybe yes, Charlie doesn’t know or care anymore) intense that Charlie starts chanting Tom’s name without knowing.

And when his fingers find her bud, she can’t even hold herself up anymore, but falls forwards, hips still bucking, her body still moving up and down.

Tom’s hot breath fans over her ear, and his fingers slow and falter. But it’s okay - goodness, it’s more than okay - because she feels him jerk inside her.

And that right there is the best feeling in the world and also manages to tip her over the edge.

She’s screaming and actually growling and cursing and shuttering around him.

Charlie sees stars behind her closed eyelids, doesn’t know what’s up and what’s down anymore and only feels Tom pulsating inside her.

She thinks she bites his shoulder. Hard.

* * *

Yup. This time he really has died and gone to heaven.

Because he’s certain he’s never felt like this before. Kind of floaty. Kind of sore-ish and exhausted. And heavenly.

It takes him a few minutes–or is it hours?–to get his tongue to work, his eyes still tightly shut.

“‘s nice ‘n heav’n,” he slurs, barely recognizing his own voice.

He thinks he hears some sort of non-verbal answer. Not sure what it is, some sort of snuffly, low, drawn-out sound that may or may not be in agreement with his words.

Gradually, other impressions filter in. Lots of heat and softness and wetness. A weight on his body, something tickling his nose. And his shoulder feels achy. That doesn’t quite seem right. Isn’t heaven suposed to be pain-free?

And then the weight above him wiggles and makes more noises, and that something that tickles his nose moves a bit and now it feels like he’s got hair in his mouth.

Oh. Oh, of course.

He’s way too groggy to even think about lifting an arm to get Charlie’s hair away from his lips. He’s also too blissful.

And a little afraid to open his eyes and see that it’s been a dream and he’s merely napping with Charlie.

But they’re also sticky and definitely still connected.

When Tom moves a bit, the pain in his shoulder gets sharper. Huh?

“Shoulder hurts,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

“’m sorry,” comes the answer that’s not at all helpful until, “think I bit you.” Oh. Yeah, that could be it. If he was anywhere near coherent, Tom would chuckle and make fun of her, but as it is that’ll have to wait for a few minutes.

He does drag one heavy arm high enough to hold Charlie securely in his embrace, however. She fits perfectly.

“’s okay,” he murmurs, admittedly a little late for a response.

Oh yes. Definitely okay.

Much more than okay.

Kind of perfect, actually.

Charlie doesn’t want to move an inch. Not now, maybe not ever.

Going for round 2 was the best idea’s she’s ever had. Heck, maybe choosing Tom was the best idea she’s ever had.

The nurse in her wants to look at Tom’s shoulder because she has no idea how hard she’s bitten him. But the rest of her wins because she’s way too exhausted to do something as monumental as lifting her head.

A nap sounds great now.

“Sleep?” asks Tom groggily at the same time.

“Sleep,” is what he gets as an answer, and Charlie moves a bit, getting up from him - is she also removing the condom? Feels like it, but then again, he feels kind of numb everywhere. - and then drapes herself around him maybe ten seconds later.

A moment after that however, just when Tom is slowly drifting off, his body following his brain as it seems, he feels her jerk.

“Evie?” she murmurs and Tom could kiss her right there, hearing the concern in her voice. But that would require head movement.

“Emma,” he mumbles back. Admittedly, he kind of forgot a little bit about his daughter. Oops. “Fetching later t'night.”

He’s got no idea what time it is, but it wasn’t later than 5 when he arrived. All is well then.

“Good.” He feels arms tighten around his upper body, a leg sneaking between his.

“Good.”


End file.
